


I Am Weary (Let Me Rest)

by LoversAntiquities



Series: Codas [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Heaven, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, POV Second Person, Post-Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:49:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoversAntiquities/pseuds/LoversAntiquities
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel finds you in your Heaven, and then proceeds to lose his shit.</p><p>A 9x23 Coda</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Am Weary (Let Me Rest)

Castiel finds you in your Heaven, and then proceeds to lose his shit.

You’ve been to Heaven before; you know the inner workings of each individual space. A constant playback of memories of the individual, sometimes with breaks in coherency to the point where they can interact with visitors. Your mother is there. A good chunk of everyone you ever _knew_ is there. _Because_ of you, you consider idly, staring up into white nothingness. At some point, you’ll get up and find your way around, see where everyone is. How they’re doing.

But now is _not_ that time. You’re beside yourself in your misery, your sobs wracking every nerve ending in your new ethereal body. The last you remembered, you were looking at Sam and telling him you were proud of the two of you. Of everything you’ve done, of everything you are. Because no matter how much you’ve gone through over the years, that fact has never changed. You love him. You _loved_ him, rather. And he, you, no matter how much he claimed to hate you and your decisions. Because at the time, you knew what you were doing and nothing could deter that. You were trying to save him. Because you couldn't go on without him.

And now you’re expected to. Somewhere down there, Sam’s wallowing in your death with your body in his bed, and there’s nothing you can do about it. Heaven’s gates have been reopened and the souls are breaching, setting up, existing on their new plane. And you’re alone. He’s alone. You don’t know what to do. Castiel is stuck somewhere in Angel Heaven in a jail cell and you just died for nothing. Metatron is alive and gloating that he got to kill the _Righteous Man_ before anyone else. Because if there’s anyone you can’t trust more, it’s _Angels_.

So what do you do? You lay in your unformed Heaven on your back in the middle of a wheat field, staring up at the cloudless, abysmally white sky. If you had a home, it would’ve been there with you. But the truth of the matter is, you don’t have one. The Bunker was as close as it got, but it isn’t what you want there. Too many bad memories, no matter how much you tried to make it more comfortable for everyone. You can’t even use you childhood home. Because that was never yours in the first place. You’ve been on the road since you were four – that house is just a memory. And that’s how it’ll always be.

No, your home is the road. You’re honestly surprised the Impala isn’t there, you in the drivers seat, spending eternity roaming the unending two-lanes with an unlimited supply of gas, and _maybe_ Sam at your side, if he passed away with you.

But somehow, you’re here. Tears streaking your face, your cries audible to everyone and anything in earshot. You cover your eyes with your hands, kicking the wheat stalks at your feet like a child. How are you supposed to handle your death? You didn't see this coming, admittedly. Yes, you knew the consequences of taking on the Mark, but you were so consumed with power, you didn't see your expiration as a _consequence._ What a way to go, though. Of all the monsters in the world, of Michael and Lucifer, the Leviathan, it turned out to be the nerdiest-looking Angel to ever grace God’s presence. With the universes largest ego to boot.

You lay there for what feels like hours, unable to console yourself. You’re stronger than this, but maybe you were waiting for it. A single moment of complete silence for you to have your existential crisis slash mental collapse. Honestly, it should have come sooner. But you were always on the move, never giving yourself a second to relax, to just take it easy. Because if you did, you would’ve been crippled under the weight of your entire life and maybe gone catatonic, leaving Sam in the same place he is now.

Mourning for a brother he never got to apologize to. To return the final words you gave him in your time of dying.

You mourn for your decisions, your life, your birth in the middle of Heaven, where life is supposed to be happy and stuck in a loop. Even in death, you can’t find a single moment to feel at peace.

And then Castiel finds you. The last person –no, _being_ —you expected to see, and it’s him. Looking even more distraught than ever, eyes red-rimmed and tear streaked, hands grasping at nothing but wanting to touch. He stands near your feet and drops to his knees at your side, drawing your limp body into his arms and crying inconsolably into your shoulder. Angel’s don't cry. Angels don’t have the capacity for emotion, for feeling, and look what you did. You made an Angel _cry_. How are you supposed to feel about that?

Admittedly, worse. In your exhaustion and anguish, your bring your arms around his neck and bury your fingers into his coat, tears and snot and whatever else soaking into the stale fabric as you apologize for everything you've done in your _life_. It should be embarrassing. Most of what you’re babbling doesn't apply to him. But some of it does. You’re sorry for the words you’ve said in both past and recent present, for how you’ve treated him, for the decisions you’ve made without his knowledge, for the things you’ve been too scared to admit to his face.

Figures, the only time you tell someone you love them is after you’ve died.

He doesn't take it as a brand new revelation –he only returns the sentiment as he bawls into your shirt, tremors shaking his body to the core, hands grasping you like you’re the only thing holding him together. Knowing him, you probably _are_. A creature billions of years old reduced to tears over one human. One pathetic, run of the mill human with nothing to his name but a trail of blood and destruction. You don't know how he can love you. But he does.

You’re both grief stricken. You won’t leave one another. You share decades worth of pain in the most basic way possible, clinging to each other, tears mingling on your cheeks, trailing down your skin, dying everything pure. You don't know who kisses first, but it’s not a chaste thing. It’s nothing like you imagined it would be. It’s full of agony and despair, a collection of whimpers and teeth and tongue, like you’re trying to consume each other, striving to become one entity.

This isn’t how it was supposed to end.

Minutes later, maybe hours –you don't know how long, time moves differently here—you find yourself clinging to him on your side in that wheat field, his fingers stroking your face as tenderly as possible. He’s still crying –you are too. You don’t think you’ll ever stop. He pets you like you’re the most precious object in all of existence, through the snot and the spit and everything that’s come out of your face, and it’s the most disgusting thing ever, but you don't move to stop him. Because he looks the same, and it’s the most human thing you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll go to Sam,” he says, his voice cracking with every syllable. “I’ll find a way to bring you back, with or without my Grace.” You both know it’s fading unless he does something about it. Time isn’t on your side. But then again, when is it ever? This is _your life_ you’re talking about. Nothing is ever easy, but you make it through.

You close your eyes to the sight of him; you can’t stand to look at his face anymore. He’s a reminder of your time alive. Of the most difficult years of your life. Of the Angel, the _man_ , you loved with all your heart, platonic and not, and you won’t get to see him in the flesh again unless something is done. Knowing you, something awful will come of it. You’ll come back as some monster bent on destruction. You won’t ever be the same. Because that’s not how God has it in his grand scheme and you know it.

Dean Winchester, former Righteous Man, now a corpse and a wayward soul in Heaven. You were supposed to go out with a bang, guns blazing, letting everyone know that you were there, you died doing what you did best. But no. You were in a warehouse being shived to death and you couldn't even defend yourself. How pathetic.

“Don’t leave him alone,” you tell him solemnly, quietly, because you don't trust your voice. “You watch over my little brother, y’hear me? Make sure nothing bad happens to him. Keep him safe. He needs… He needs you now, more than ever.”

Castiel kisses your forehead. “You need me, too.” And isn’t that the truth? You always knew those words would come back to bite you in the ass.

You bite your lip. “I need you more.” You want to curl up into a ball under his gaze. He’s staring at your soul again, like he always does. Determining the validity of your words. It’s closer to the surface now –it’s all you are. He can see right through you.

He smiles and places a hand on your shoulder, the shoulder he marked all those years ago, the one he fixed when he felt you didn't need him anymore. It’s no longer there, but you can feel it, the power thrumming underneath his hand, into your skin, your very being. You calm from his touch. “I want to see your Heaven.” He cards a hand through your hair and helps you to your feet; you nearly collapse into his arms from uncertainty.

Heaven is supposed to be pure, but you feel tainted being there, being in the presence of such a holy place, an Angel of the Lord at your side. You look out into the endless field and sigh. Your fingers slip into place between each other like they’ve belonged there from the beginning. You never had time to learn. Maybe, if Castiel’s plan comes to fruition, you’ll be able to find out.

But for now, you close your eyes. Your surroundings change, and you can feel the Angel watching in awe. With him at your side, things might be okay. But he won’t always be there, you know. He’ll be watching over Sam. And until he’s done, you’ll be alone.

You don’t like the circumstances, but you’ll make it work. You always do.

You make a home for you and Sam, and Castiel too. Because if there were anywhere the three of you would rather be, it’d be with each other.

 

_Seems the light is swiftly fading. Brighter scenes, they do now show_  
_I am standing by the river, Angels wait to take me home_

_Kiss me mother kiss your darlin'. See the pain upon my brow_  
_While I'll soon be with the Angels, fate has doomed my future now_

_Through the years you've always loved me, and my life you've tried to save_  
_But now I shall slumber sweetly in a deep and lonely grave_

_Kiss me mother kiss your darlin'. Lay my head upon your breast_  
_Throw your loving arms around me. I am weary, let me rest_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "I Am Weary (Let Me Rest)" by The Cox Family.
> 
> It's been a week and I'm still not over it. I woke up with this song in my head this morning and it bothered me until I did something about it. I have several perceptions on how S10 will start, this being one of them. I might write the others up soon if I stop breaking my own heart.
> 
> I'm on [tumblr](http://tragidean.tumblr.com) and [twitter](http://twitter.com/loversantiquity).


End file.
